


Good Trouble

by lady_krysis (saekhwa)



Category: The Losers (2010)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Canon Character of Color, Character of Color, Community: kink_bingo, F/M, Female Character of Color, Het and Slash, Interracial Relationship, Kinks, Male Protagonist, Multi, POV Male Character, Threesome, Threesome - F/M/M, Tickling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-05
Updated: 2010-08-05
Packaged: 2017-10-10 23:04:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/105382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saekhwa/pseuds/lady_krysis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jensen doesn't get away with much, but that's okay because the perks are worth it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Good Trouble

**Author's Note:**

> REO Speedwagon: awesome for fic titles when you run out of ideas.

Jensen can't breathe. It might become a problem in about three minutes — or rather, he's guessing on the three minutes. He thinks he read somewhere on his random forays through the wilds of the Internet that a person starts losing brain cells at about three minutes with no oxygen, and there's no telling how many he's lost already just by virtue of having a job where scaling one-hundred-foot buildings and falling off platforms and oh yeah, getting _shot at_ are all part and parcel of the job along with a big ol' disclaimer that he never bothered reading. The point is, Jensen needs _all_ of his brain cells. He can't be the techie guru genius without them.

So Jensen tries to suck in some air, but his muscles spasm when Jolene's fingers shift down to his stomach and ow, ow, ow, he's starting to get a cramp in his side like he just ate and decided to go for a twenty-mile swim or got thrown back into PT. Those were some grueling years there. Then Jolene derails Jensen's entire thought process — further proof that he's already losing valuable brain cells — by finding a new patch of skin over his shoulder blade that he didn't even _know_ was a ticklish hot spot. Jensen tries to twist to get away and fails miserably. Passing out seems more imminent by the second. It's also not really funny that he can hear the penultimate countdown to his demise.

"Okay, okay," he bursts out in a breathless rush. "I give. Uncle, uncle!"

Jolene's fingers catch the really ticklish spot just below Jensen's ribs — which he's going to call foul on once he catches his breath — and he jerks, ramming his hip into the kitchen counter as he tries to curl into a nice fetal-like position of surrender. It ends up being more of a hunch of his shoulders and a raised leg, and all Jensen needs is a white flag. If this ever gets out, he knows the team will never let him live it down, but they're not facing down a woman with a wooden spoon and fingers of tickling death either. It sounds sort of like superpowers, except for the fact that Jolene is using them for evil, so it's not Jensen's fault when his thoughts detour to Jolene in spandex and some awesome-looking boots. The thought is so distracting — because wow, Jolene would be _hot_ in spandex and a whip and her authoritative mom voice — that Jensen doesn't dodge the swat of her hand.

"Good," she says while he's giving his best 'ow, ow, ow.' "Now get out of my kitchen." Jolene brandishes the wooden spoon, pointing it at Jensen like she might thwack him in the head, so now he knows, she is definitely serious about him not stealing a(nother) piece of bacon.

"Yes, ma'am." Jensen stays exactly where he is, pointing over his shoulder to clarify his intentions. "I'll just be over there, in the territory of the dining room, behind the armistice line."

When Jolene nods and steps back, Jensen rubs his hip, gives her the sad, puppy dog look — and who laughs at that? Jolene laughs at that — and strolls over to his side of the line. Jamaar's on the way, though, happily oblivious to Jensen's near-death experience and resultant surrender. Jamaar's too busy practicing his future career of being a drummer or maybe a performer in _Stomp_. Or, with the way his food is smeared all over his face, he could just as easily be perfecting his abstract painting skills.

Jensen grabs Jamaar's hand and shakes it, grinning even bigger when Jamaar squeals and flashes his version of a big, toothy smile, except without the teeth, of course.

"_Hey_, buddy, you wanna play? 'Cause your mom is—"

Jensen shoots straight up, hands on his butt, when something smacks his left cheek. And there's Jolene. With the wooden spoon. In the kitchen. It feels like a game of Clue, except not as much fun 'cause Jensen's butt hurts and not in the good way.

"The end of that sentence had better be nice, sweet, or pretty," Jolene warns.

"Ah, Jo, you've gotta give a guy a chance." Jensen takes a step back because he's not giving Jolene another chance at his ass—Well, he _is_, but those are different circumstances and involve pleasant things like _orgasms_—And Jensen puts the brakes on his thoughts right there. "So, buddy," he says, freeing Jamaar from the high chair to get him cleaned up for play time, "your mom is the best, most coolest mom ever. Never forget that." Jamaar burbles something that might be intelligence code for 'you're saying that 'cause she got you good, and dude, this is me laughing at you,' and Jamaar would be right. The second part isn't cool, though; they're supposed to be buddies and all. Then Jamaar smacks Jensen in the face with his spoon. "Ow."

Jolene laughs — it's a conspiracy — and wipes the smudge of baby food off of Jensen's cheek with a kitchen towel. She kisses the corner of his mouth and plucks the spoon from Jamaar's hand. "Now go get Pooch and tell him breakfast is almost ready. Once I fry more bacon."

Jensen grins and gives her a snappy salute. "Yes, ma'am. We're on it."

~*~

Jolene has mom eyes better than a CCD surveillance camera with infrared and night vision capability because the moment Jensen sneaks into the kitchen for a little snack — mission objective: the blueberry muffins that Jolene batch tested this afternoon — she's there, fingers right at his ribs where he's most vulnerable.

Jensen's down before he knows what hit him. Not down down, necessarily. He doesn't hit the floor, but he does ram his hip into the counter again — that bruise is going to be as permanent as his tramp stamp — and scrambles to get away from Jolene only to get shoved into the corner.

"Uh ... ." Jensen blinks down at her and tries a harmless grin.

"And what do you think you're doing?" Jolene asks, her fingers resting like landmines over Jensen's ribs.

"Well." Jensen darts a look left — nada there — and then right — sink. "Water," he says and tries to reach for one of the glasses in the dish rack. "You know, gotta quench your thirst in this heat. It's important to stay hydrated with these record highs."

Jolene pats Jensen's side. It makes him twitchy and squirmy, but he doesn't drop the glass, just flashes another grin and twists his body so he can turn on the water faucet and fill up his glass.

"You go for those muffins, Jensen, it's on."

"Muffins?" Jensen asks and leans against the counter. He takes a sip of his water. His cover is solid. "There are muffins?"

Jolene laughs, bounces onto the balls of her feet and pecks his cheek. "The clueless act doesn't work with me, sweetie. Now out of the kitchen."

Jensen doesn't bother arguing. He dumps his water, puts the glass in the dishwasher and shuffles out. He was so close to his goal, too.

~*~

How it starts doesn't matter so much as how it ends, and this time, Jensen's determined to win this round.

"Oh, it's payback, Jo! I'm totally going to get you this time!"

Jensen chases her through the kitchen, into the living room, and talk about leaping over tall bounds. Jensen sees it live, caught off guard by the sight of Jolene hopping onto the couch instead of running around it or running into it — which is what Jensen has done on several occasions — and making a quick escape into the dining room. She can _move_, and it's kind of amazing to watch. Well, it's always amazing to watch Jo, but in this particular instance, it's extra special. Then Jensen remembers that he had a plan for revenge — and maybe some kisses afterward.

Jensen sprints around and nearly catches Jolene in the kitchen, but she's quick on her feet, pivots, and uses the counter to propel herself forward. It's a stalemate around the dining room table for a good five minutes, enough time for both of them to catch their breaths.

"I'm going to get you," Jensen says, faking a left and then darting right, but Jo anticipates the movement and darts in the other direction, heading straight for the living room again.

They make another circuit — living room, kitchen, dining room, living room, kitchen, dining room — and another spin around the dining room table before Jensen finally manages to catch her on the couch by tackling her — gently, of course — onto it. All that grueling PT did wonders for his stamina, and naturally, Jensen's thoughts spiral downhill from there. It's hard not to with Jolene trapped underneath him, her breasts rising and falling with each heavy breath she takes, her eyes bright and her hair spread all over the arm of the couch.

"Told you I'd get you," Jensen says and starts the tickling war to end all tickling wars, or at least to get some revenge for all the times that Jo caught him in the kitchen or at the theater or on grill nights with the team. At some point, she'll devolve into helpless peals of laughter.

But all Jensen achieves is Jo's warm, fond eyes fixed on his face and a bright smile. He tries her ribs — over the shirt and under it — her neck, her armpits. All a no go. Jensen slides Jolene's skirt up and tries the back of her knees, the insides of her thighs, and her calves. He's about to go for her feet when she catches his hands and drags him up with a laugh.

"Oh, Jensen, honey, I'm not ticklish."

"But—" Jensen frowns and waves his hands. "You ran!"

Jolene cups his face between her palms and rocks his head from side to side, knocking his glasses askew. "That's because I like being chased." Then she draws him down and kisses the tip of his nose.

"That's diabolical, Jo."

"Nope." The grin should have been a big clue if Jensen had been paying attention to _that_ instead of the big well of disappointment he was drowning in. "This is."

Her fingers dig into his oh-so-sensitive skin, and he's overcome, nearly toppling off the couch in a short-sighted effort to get away now, now, now.

"No fair! No fair!"

Jensen squirms, but Jo is relentless to the point of villainous, and Jensen somehow ends up hanging halfway off the couch anyway. He plants his feet against the back of the couch and tries to get enough leverage to kick and get out from under her, but Jo is good and plops right down on his midsection. She yanks up his shirt and knows all the spots that'll make Jensen lose his breath from laughing so hard. No matter how much Jensen squirms and twists, Jo's got him firmly pinned to the ground and won't let up.

"Okay, okay. I give, I give," Jensen gasps, struggling to pull his shirt back down and protect what he can.

It's not much. He jerks when Jo's nails brush up his ribs again. "You know the magic words."

Jensen likes to think of this as a tactical retreat, but he can silently admit this is a total surrender. "Uncle, uncle, uncle."

Jo rests her palms flat against Jensen's sides, and he sucks in all the air that he can, which happens to be too much, too fast. He turns his head and coughs. Jolene's got Jensen's body so hyped up that the sweat on the back of his neck is ticklish. He lays there, coughing, Jolene patting and rubbing circles up his sides, and relearns the trick to breathing while his heart races off without the rest of him. When Jolene shifts, Jensen's not ready for the way it makes his cock jerk. It's not an entirely new development.

Jensen adjusts the set of his glasses and squints at the huge smudge on the left lens. There's something dotted on the right, but it's not nearly as distracting as the smudge. Then again, nothing is nearly as distracting as the curl of Jolene's mouth when she flips her hair over her shoulder and rolls her hips.

"So you give?" she asks, making Jensen's muscles jump when she slides a hand down his stomach.

"Give?" Jensen swallows past the tightness in his throat when Jolene tugs on his jeans and unbuttons them. "This is a—" Jensen drops his head back and squeezes his eyes shut, the signals in his body going screwy at the brush of Jolene's fingers up his side and the rasp of the zipper when she pulls it down. "This is an unconditional surrender."

Jolene laughs as she slides down his body, pushing his legs apart. Her breath tickles his stomach, but it's the brush of her lips that his hips bucking. "Not yet."

Jensen shivers when Jolene hooks her fingers into his jeans and forces his hips up. "If I had a white flag, I'd wave it."

She snaps the waistband of his underwear, and Jensen jumps from the sting. "I'll take these," she says.

"They're yours. Have 'em."

Jo laughs, the sound soft and promising. It makes Jensen's gut tighten with anticipation. "I plan to."

Jensen doesn't resist. At all. So it's no surprise that Pooch returns with Jamaar and finds them still sprawled on the floor, Jensen happily humming one of the many songs that get stuck in his head, his underwear and jeans tossed somewhere, and Jolene's head resting on his chest.

"Do I even wanna know?" Pooch asks.

Jensen grins. "I can give you a blow by blow, if you want."

Jo buries a laugh against Jensen's chest, and Pooch shakes his head in a cheap ploy to hide his grin. Pooch doesn't get that blow by blow immediately, but Jensen definitely delivers later that evening while Jolene watches the baby.


End file.
